A Purpose without a Purpose .

Purpose Unbound

In a silent room where echoes play,
A purpose sits, yet drifts without a name;
It wears a crown of light that never’s tame,
And whispers “be,” while never moving sway.

A compass spins, its needle never stays—
It points to nothing, yet insists the same;
The traveler walks, not knowing why he came,
While every step is both the start and praise.

Such aimless aim, a paradoxical song,
A lantern lit, though darkness stays its throne;
It offers shelter to the wandering throng,
Yet leaves the road unmapped, the path unknown.

Thus purpose lives, a ghost without a grief—
A boundless frame that fills the void with belief.

In a silent room where echoes play,
A purpose sits, yet drifts without a name;
It wears a crown of light that never’s tame,
And whispers “be,” while never moving sway.

A compass spins, its needle never stays—
It points to nothing, yet insists the same;
The traveler walks, not knowing why he came,
While every step is both the start and praise.

Such aimless aim, a paradoxical song,
A lantern lit, though darkness stays its throne;
It offers shelter to the wandering throng,
Yet leaves the road unmapped, the path unknown.

Thus purpose lives, a ghost without a grief—
A boundless frame that fills the void with belief.